


The King and the Princes

by blxe_txlip, pixielove



Category: Back to the Future, Michael Jackson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: 1d, Alternative Universe 1D, Delorean, Doc, F/M, Harry Styles - Freeform, King of Pop, Larry Stylinson AU fic, Larry Stylinson fic, Liam Payne - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, MJ - Freeform, MJ/Ava smut, Marty McFly - Freeform, Michael Jackson - Freeform, Michael Jackson mentors One Direction, Michael Joseph Jackson, Narry is cute, Neverland Ranch, Niall Horan - Freeform, Niall is the Captain of S.S Stylinson, One Direction bromances, One Direction/Michael Jackson/Back to the Future crossover, One direction AU, Smut, Who could forget smut?, Zayn Malik - Freeform, back to the future - Freeform, larry smut, larry stylinson - Freeform, larry stylinson au, world tour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxe_txlip/pseuds/blxe_txlip, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixielove/pseuds/pixielove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The One Direction boys are enjoying the last days of their break before the next leg of their Where We Are world tour is set to kick start, when Zayn suggests a visit to an old car junkyard one evening to cure their boredom. The boys come across a DeLorean reminiscent to Doc’s time travelling car from Back to the Future. Unbeknown to the boys, it is that very DeLorean (and Marty McFly urgently needs it back). Thinking nothing of it, the One Direction lads jump into the vehicle and hammer around. Louis, of course, can be counted on to fiddle with all the gadgets. Harry, of course, can be counted on to start driving the damn car and reaching 88 miles per hour and Zayn, naturally, can be counted on to philosophise about how sick it would be to have had the chance to meet the King of Pop. Indeed, it’s the collective effort of Zourry which lands them well and truly in the past – 1991, to be exact. Despite being expected on stage in four days’ time, the One Direction boys find themselves a long way from home…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The DeLorean

Two glorious weeks they had off. The start of the tour had kicked off with no issues at all - in fact, all five boys were glad to be back doing what they love. They had loved their time in South America but now it was time to catch up on some rest before starting on their European leg of the tour. On their fifth day off, the weather was dreary. Rain splattered heavily against the windows and the wind blew. All the boys were sprawled about in Niall's tv room; Zayn and Louis sat in front of the tv, shouting at the tv whenever their video game character did something dumb, Liam flipping through a comic book on the floor. Niall and Harry were on the couch - Harry dozing off, Niall on his phone, tweeting to fans.  
"Man," Liam said, "I'm bored." The other boys agreed. "We need a little excitement in our lives right now. It's great to be home and all, but I'd like to go somewhere without being spotted or hounded. It hurts." He flinched as the thought of dozens of flying hands came barreling towards him, trying to get a touch of the famous boy and bandmates. 

"Go t' th' Funky Buddha!" Niall chimes in. Liam shook his head. Silence settled over them again. 

"Let's wait til it gets dark. We can sneak into an old junkyard," Zayn said. Harry cracked an eye open as the other boys turned their gaze to the dark haired boy. "What? I like looking through there sometimes. Plus, no one goes in there, so." Louis shouted as his character on the tv screen let out a guttural groan as a result of being stabbed by the enemy.

"Oh Mr. Junkyard Man," Louis said, crossing his eyes, "what pray tell is there to see?" Zayn shrugged as he started a new game. 

"Just old cars. None are useable." 

Harry finally spoke. "I think we should go. I mean, what could go wrong?" 

At eleven that night, all the boys met outside the yard, the cold London air biting at their exposed skin. Zayn pulled open the iron gate and in they went. Liam went first, followed by Niall, then Zayn, and finally Louis and Harry holding hands. They went separate directions, finding care parts and waving them in the air and testing them out. Niall found a car from the fifties whose door was missing and slid in the drivers seat. He channeled his inner kid and made engine noises with his mouth and bounced as if he was driving along a bumpy dirt country road. He was having the time of his life when he heard Liam's voice. 

"Mates, come here!" Niall scrambled from fantasy car and towards the other boys who had gotten there. They were surrounded by a sliver car that had been obviously built and used in the eighties. "Look at this beautiful car..." Liam sounded in awe. Running his fingers along the surface, the driver's side door suddenly popped open. Instead opening normally, the door popped out and up, like a butterfly's wings. 

"Whoa." was all Harry said. Louis peeked inside and saw a bunch of buttons and switches on the dashboard. 

"I wonder what they do!" Louis exclaimed. Harry swatted the smaller boy as if he was a child getting in trouble. 

"Don't touch." Louis pouted. Zayn stuck his head inside and took in the interior. 

Suddenly the car roared to life, startling them. Zayn hit his head on the roof. Niall and Liam chuckled at him as he shot them a nasty look.a blue hue took over the yard. 

"Why are the lights blue?" Niall asked. 

"Why is the car fucking starting?" Liam mumbled. "This is weird." Zayn slung an arm around him. 

"Come on. Li, you're not scared of a car!" Liam shoved him off. 

Louis got in the car. "I wanna drive it!" All four boys voiced their opinion of Louis being an aggressive driver. "Fuck you, too then!" Harry smirked; fuck him indeed. They all piled into the car. Harry slid into the drivers seat next to Niall. 

"Ready, captain?!" Niall put on his best astronaut voice. Harry pretended to touch all the buttons on the dash before buckling his seatbelt. 

"Roger that," Harry responded. Gripping the gearshift, he pulled it gently to the left and suddenly the car lurched forward and the boys were thrust into a bright white light.  
~~~ 

"Fuck!" "Jesus Christ, I think I have whiplash!" "Harold, I know you're a good driver but what the fuck was that?" Harry opened his eyes slowly and looked at his surroundings. His limbs were still attached to him. His friends were alive and well albeit a little angry at him. Sensitive to the light, Harry squinted into the sunlight. 

"Um. Where are we? 'Cause this isn't London." 

"What do you mean we're not in London?" Liam demanded. 

"Look. Does this look like England to you?" Zayn asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Direction boys are enjoying the last days of their break before the next leg of their Where We Are world tour is set to kick start, when Zayn suggests a visit to an old car junkyard one evening to cure their boredom. The boys come across a DeLorean reminiscent to Doc’s time travelling car from Back to the Future. Unbeknown to the boys, it is that very DeLorean (and Marty McFly urgently needs it back). Thinking nothing of it, the One Direction lads jump into the vehicle and hammer around. Louis, of course, can be counted on to fiddle with all the gadgets. Harry, of course, can be counted on to start driving the damn car and reaching 88 miles per hour and Zayn, naturally, can be counted on to philosophise about how sick it would be to have had the chance to meet the King of Pop. Indeed, it’s the collective effort of Zourry which lands them well and truly in the past – 1991, to be exact. Despite being expected on stage in four days’ time, the One Direction boys find themselves a long way from home…

Harry looked about his surroundings with a feeling of dread mingled with wonder, spreading through his solar plexus and sending his heart racing. No, they definitely weren’t in England. From what he could make out, they were a long way from home. Edging their way out of the DeLorean, they stepped out onto an isolated country road, stood in the middle of what felt like a blistering hot desert. Harry spun around, taking in large Sycamore trees, listening to the sounds of buzzing insects and catching sight of the flutter of an orange Monarch wing as it dipped between the silhouettes of the encompassing leaves. Peering into the distance, Harry caught sight of a long gravel driveway surrounded with tall brick fencing and a regal gate with gold imperial writing.

“Neverland,” he read, walking up to the gate and taking in the unicorn and lion crest at the centre of the iron gates. “Neverland,” he said again, frowning, eyes slowly landing upon a sheepish looking Zayn.

“Don’t look at me like that, man,” he said in defence, holding up both hands. “You’re the one who drove us here. I didn’t, like, touch anything. I just… I was just thinking to myself that if this was anything like the DeLorean from Back to the Future, how sick it would be to time travel to Michael Jackson’s time and like, get to meet him and stuff…”

“I’m hallucinating,” Harry pretended to reason, giving Zayn one of his best befuddled dorky looks, face scrunched up and eyes bulging. 

“Good one Wayne,” Louis chimed in with a loud sigh. “You’ve brought us to some unknown, indefinite time in the past, all because in the back of your mind you were fangirling over Michael Jackson. Thank you very much.”

Zayn shoved Louis. “Don’t blame this on me. You were the one fiddling with all the controls. If I didn’t know any better, Lou, I’d say YOU brought us here because you can’t keep your hands off things.”

Liam jumped in with his ten cents worth before Louis could respond, although the look of outrage on Louis’ face was bringing a fond smile to Harry’s face. “Boys, arguing isn’t going to help us here. Let’s try and be as strategic and level headed as possible. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is Neverland Ranch, Michael Jackson’s residence, and we’re in the States, not London, and it’s no longer the year 2014…”

“You don’t say,” Louis said, shooting his best mentally challenged expression Liam’s way, pupils zapping to his nose to give him a cross eyed look and mouth gaping. 

“Well, what should we do with the DeLorean?” Liam asked.

“Park it in MJ’s garage?” Niall shrugged.

“Niall, we should be focusing on getting home, to 2014-“ Liam was saying.

“Oh, Li-Li, live a little!” Louis interrupted, clapping him on the shoulders and steering him toward the Neverland gates. 

Liam looked like he was ready to bust a vein. “I’m not playing this game, Tommo. We’re about to begin our WORLD STADIUM TOUR AND YOU LOT ARE JUST CASUALLY ACTING LIKE THIS IS ALL FINE AND DANDY? This is NOT fine! Our FANS are expecting us on stage! We have to get back! We can’t just stay here! They’ll wonder where we disappeared to! Everyone back home will be fretting, our management, the label, oh my giddy aunt…” Liam cried, looking close to cardiac arrest as he paced back and forth along the gravel driveway.

“Mate, calm down. Having a melt-down isn’t gonna fix this either,” Harry tried to reason, his slow honey soft voice oozing through Liam’s eardrums as he clasped a big palm around his nape in an attempt of bringing ease to the other bandmate. “We’re not due back on stage for another, what, four days? We can let our hair down, check things out. How about we go inside, see if we can get access and if MJ’s even here – I mean, think about that. Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson, who’s DEAD. This is a once and a life-time chance, bro. Imagine the things we could discover… and it would be our little secret… yeah?”

The doubtful cloud hanging over Liam’s teddy bear eyes began to lessen, his reluctant fore-head wrinkled expression dissipating into one of cautious compliance. “Okay,” he nodded after a moment. “Okay. We’ll see if MJ’s here but if he is, we meet him, and then we’re out, okay? In and straight back out and back to that DeLorean?”

“Of course,” Harry smiled, but if anything, the smile seemed to cast a look of suspicion upon Liam’s features, observing as the smirk on Harry’s face widened, easily an award winning smile with dimples that couldn’t be trusted.

“Can I help you boys?” the gruff voice of a gatekeeper suddenly asked, leering down at them.

“We’re here to see Mr Michael Jackson,” Niall supplied, beaming at the gatekeeper.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No,” Liam answered automatically, earning a shove in the ribs from Louis’ elbow. “Ouch!” Liam whined, frowning at Louis, “What was that for?”

Louis coughed and stepped forward. “Amateurs, let me handle this,” he whispered. “Good day, sir. We’re actually in from England. Just flew in, as it were. Mr Jackson’s expecting us, yes, but he wasn’t expecting us to be here today, you see. We had a change in plans. We’re performers ourselves, so, schedules change, you know how it is…”

The guard didn’t seem overly swayed, but he reached for his walkie-talkie nonetheless, “Gates-keeper to Security?”

The walkie-talkie crackled and a voice on the other end could be heard talking to the gates-keeper in muffled tones.

“Hmm…is that so? Yeah, they say they’re in from England. Boss said yes? Okay… alright, I’m letting them through…” he said gruffly. “Rodger.” 

“Thanks mate,” Niall beamed. “Yer a legend.”

One by one the boys filed into the DeLorean and Harry jumped into the driver’s seat, driving past the open gates and down the long winding gravel road, not knowing exactly where he was headed but following the path ahead.

“Whatever you do Haz,” Zayn began, tapping Harry on the shoulder and leaning in from the back seat to whisper in his ear, “don’t reach 88 miles per hour. If this is anything like the DeLorean from the movie, once you hit 88 miles per hour, it gains the right amount of speed for time travelling.”

“AHA, so the fault lies with Styles,” Louis boomed as Harry passed a water fountain and various bronze statues of children and homages everywhere he looked to Peter Pan, the Lost Boys and Tink. “Hazza, you were the one driving, you were the one who decided to boot it and go up to 88 miles per hour, therefore, it’s your fault entirely that we wound up here.”

“Yeah but YOU turned the keypad on… which set the time-zone in…” Harry argued.

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Harry Styles, I did not and you know I didn’t. My hands are clean. I will not take any responsibility for your rebellious actions that landed us here, in fact-”

“My rebellious actions, it was ZAYN’S idea in the first place!” Harry cried.

“Oh, the lovebirds are fighting again.” Niall said fondly. “Bless.”

“Shut up Niall,” Louis sassed, “I didn’t ask for your opinion did I?” he added, as Harry rolled around the loop of the drive and parked outside the impressive Tutor style residence. Harry waited for the car doors to open skyward, allowing him and the boys to bounce out. Once out, he led the way toward the house and was about to tap on the door when none other than Michael Jackson himself opened the door, shooting them a smile that bled sunshine.

“I woke up today,” he said unexpectedly, “thinking that something unusual might happen. I went to my Giving Tree – over there, see,” he said, pointing into the distance behind Louis’ shoulder. The boys turned around to look at where Michael was pointing, all taking in the winding large Sycamore tree. “The tree inspires me to write songs, you see. I went there, and I had the best dream, and I dreamt that I met five boys from England and it reminded me so much of Peter Pan meeting Michael and John and Wendy and all the Lost Boys from the story, that when Scott said five British boys were here to see me, I just had to agree to see you. I believe in signs, I believe today is a good day for some magic. I love magic, don’t you? Oh, but I’m being rude. Come in, please, come in…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Direction and Michael Jackson meet

All five boys were stunned. “Please,” Michael said again, “come in. You boys look like you’re lost. I can’t be out in the sun without my umbrella.” He pointed to his bare arm that was begin to turn red, his lupus flaring up. They quickly shuffled inside, mouths slightly opened as they drank in the inside of Michael’s home. The staircase was decorated with a small child running with a kite in her hand. To the right, a life size painting of Michael dressed like royalty hung delicately. 

"Haha, holy fuck," Zayn breathed. "This is insane. We’re in Michael Jackson’s home." He began to cackle. "In what world would this ever happen? I’m your biggest fan! I have all your records; oh my God, you guys!" Zayn’s ‘mysterious’ charade was beginning to crumble. Harry and Louis were big fans of the King as well, but they wouldn’t embarrass themselves like that. 

Not yet anyway. 

Michael bowed his head slightly, embarrassed. He muttered a thank you as Niall stepped forward, caressing Michael’s cheek. 

"Niall!" Harry reprimanded. Niall caressed Michael’s other cheek to make sure he was the real deal. Michael didn’t flinch - he’s had worse done to him. This was mild. Finally, the blond stepped away from him. Chuckling, Michael shook his head and walked towards the kitchen. The other boys followed like a herd of sheep. When they walked in, a short woman stood over the sink, humming to herself. 

"Ava," Michael softly said. The woman turned around, her tight curly hair bouncing. While it was obvious that she was black, it she seemed to have some Latino blood as well. Zayn knocked Liam’s shoulder to get his attention to the dark skinned woman in front of them. Her dark brown eyes were questioning the strangers behind Michael. Leaning against him, Liam’s eyes scanned her up and down as Zayn subconsciously licked his lips; white women didn’t compare to the dark skinned beauties both boys went after. When she spoke, Liam thought he would pass out.

"Michael, good morning," her heavy Puerto Rican accent confirmed their burning questions. Because it would be quite rude to ask if she was something other than black. Meanwhile, her accent sent a shiver through Zayn. "I thought you would be asleep after last night." A flash of jealously went through both boys. "I heard you working on some stuff in the studio." Liam let out an audible sigh of relief. 

He shook his head. “No, no. I went outside because I heard a crash and found these boys outside the door. I don’t know how they managed to get past the guards and up the road.” Liam slid his way to Ava and stuck out his hand. 

"Name’s Liam." Ava shook it. The rest of the boys introduced themselves. Ava asked if they were hungry and Niall voiced his opinion while the others nodded, still quite stunned. She went to open the cabinet, but Michael stopped her.

Michael stopped her. “Babe, don’t. I’ll get the chef.” He walked over to the cabinet and pressed a button. “Leo, can you please come down and make breakfast?” He paused. A garbled French voice bled through the speakers. “Yes, I know it’s early, but Ava and I have guests over.” Michael thanked Leo and turned towards the boys and Ava. Ava led them to a long table table away from the kitchen. “I’ll be back.” He shuffled over to Ava and kissed her on the cheek and disappeared around the corner. 

"Ava," Louis spoke up. "How do you know Mr. Jackson?" The chef Michael had called down earlier made his way in the kitchen and began whipping out pots and pans. Leo bid Ava a good morning. 

Ava slid in a chair next to Harry; Louis reflexively placed a hand on the younger man’s thigh. (You would think after three years, the possessiveness would die down a little.) “Michael is my boyfriend.” Liam growled lowly. The other boys seemed surprised as well. They knew Michael wasn’t gay, as those rumors were years old now; he just didn’t present women on his arm to the public. 

Niall placed his elbow on the table, propping his head into his hand, a dreamy smile perched on his lips. “How’d you meet?” Flustered, Ava shook her hair in an attempt to hide her face. She then launched into her story - Michael was in Puerto Rico to record some new music for an album he was working on. While working several blocks down from the studio, Michael came into her father’s family owned jewelry store. 

"Obviously I knew who he was because, he’s been around for like, ever," she continued. "Anyway, he came in and asked to look at some necklaces. As I was getting several pairs, I noticed he kept looking at me. And would not stop. I thought I had something on my face! Neither one of us spoke for a while until he said in this deep, deep voice, ‘hey pretty little lady.’ And well, the rest is history." 

The boys looked rather entranced and Ava visibly relaxed. “Can I ask how long ago this was?” Zayn asked. Leo came by and set pitchers of coffee, hot water, and a variety of juices on the table. Liam raised a finger to ask if he had any tea. Leo whizzed by, placing a basket of different teas. Louis asked if they has milk and sugar and honey. 

He was pretty positive he heard “English people and their bland tea.” come from Leo in French. Rude, much? 

"To answer your question, Zayn, this was about two years ago." 

Niall reached for an apple and crunched away. “And how long have you been in America?” 

"One year." 

They continued to talk over breakfast with every kind of breakfast food you could think of. They sat, stuffed when Michael came back downstairs. 

"Hi Mr. Jackson," the boys chorused. 

"Please, call me Michael. Mr. Jackson is my father." His face went from friendly to shaken. "Boys, come with me. I want you to be the first to hear my album." They couldn’t argue with that. Leaving their mess at the table, they all scrambled down to the studio. Michael played with some buttons when the sound of glass breaking sounded through out the room. After a seemingly long (okay, really long) intro, Michael’s voice sang about the world facing problems and finding peace within himself. "Jam! It ain’t too much stuff! It ain’t too much! It ain’t too much for me!" 

Harry began to move his giraffe like limbs as Niall and Liam began to do the robot dance. Zayn and Louis watched with amusement. The song came to a close and the second track began. Almost an hour and half later, they had listened to the entire album and they were in love. Harry especially. 

"Michael," he said, breathless from all his dancing. "Can I just say how much of a fucking genius you are? I love how you tackle, um, social issues to everyday problems. Black or White is a perfect example!" He began to hum the song. 

"Yeah, and Why You Wanna Trip On Me is just flawless," Louis added. "No artist would never touch something that they see with their own eyes. And that's actually really sad." The other boys chimed in with their support and love and Michael wanted to hug them all.


	4. Chapter 4

Marty McFly – 1955

 

Strolling into the cafeteria during lunch break, Marty found his father George sat at a table by himself, writing frantically.

“George, remember that girl I introduced you to? Lorraine?” Marty began, sitting down opposite his father. George looked up into the distance, staring at Lorraine with a dazed expression on his face. Marty noticed that his father was busy writing something and so questioned him about it.

“Uh, stories. Science fiction stories about uh...visitors,” he grinned, gesturing wildly, “coming down to Earth from other planets.”

“Get out of town!” Marty said with a slow grin, “I didn’t know you did anything creative! Let me read some!” he said, gesturing toward the paper his father was scrawling on and making to pick it up but George stopped him, snatching the paper back.

“Oh no, no, no, I…I never let anybody read my stories.”

“Why not?” Marty asked, perplexed.

“Well, what if they didn’t like them? What if they told me I was no good? I guess it would be pretty hard for somebody to understand…” he said, dunking his head down and returning ot his writing.

“Uh, no. Not hard at all,” Marty responded softly, finding that his being stuck in the year 1955 when his parents were teenagers was giving him a deeper understanding of who his parents were. Mindful of the Doc’s advice that he quickly create a situation for his parents to meet and fall in love so that he would still be born and could return home, Marty brought up the subject of Lorraine again.

“So anyway, George,” he said, tapping George’s paper with the scribbled notes, “that Lorraine…she really likes you…” he said, pointing behind him to where his mother was sat., “She told me to tell you that she wants you to ask her to the dance.”

“Really?” George asked doubtfully.

“Oh yeah, all you gotta do is go over there and ask her.”

“What?! Right here, right now in the cafeteria? What if she said no? I don’t know if I could take that kind of a rejection…” he said hurriedly, staring at Lorraine from across the distance and biting his lip, “besides, I think she’d rather go with somebody else.”

Marty turned around in his seat, spotting Biff sitting behind his mother, feeling her up. Rage raced through his veins. How dare that creep go anywhere near his mother and try and disrupt what was meant to happen?

“Get your meat hooks of me!”

“You heard her! Get your meat hooks…off…” Marty cried, shrinking a little as Biff stood tall and imposing before him. Ready to defend his mother and do all he could to get her and George to the dance together, Marty stood his ground. Biff, pulling his collar, shot a cheesy grin over his shoulder at the principal who was frowning at them and said he’d let Marty off the hook just this once. Marty groaned, staring back at his father whose attention was on his sci-fi story again. This getting his parent’s together business was proving to be quite the mission.

*****

Having managed to defeat the odds and get his parents together for the dance, Marty bade his parent’s farewell and wished them good luck, but not before telling them to go easy on any future child they may have who may set the carpet on fire. Making his way towards the town’s clock tower to meet the Doc, Marty was shocked to find that the DeLorean wasn’t parked and ready as expected.

“Doc, what’s going on?!” Marty cried, coming face to face with a distraught looking Doc.

“Marty, I fear you may never return back to the year 1985! Biff has stolen the DeLorean!” Doc said, rambling in his quick flurry of speech, hands gesturing everywhere as he ran and paced, holding a hand to his forehead, calculating something to himself in frenzied mutters, “he’s been tracking your movements. I couldn’t stop him. I had everything prepared, the destination date and time was already pre-set to how it was when you first left! The year 1985, time 01:35! He had a gun Marty! I couldn’t stop him. He just jumped in and he changed the date and the lightning struck earlier than I’d calculated and he just… he’s gone. Gone! This is worse than I thought!”

“Gone?! Gone to where?! When? When, Doc?”

“The year 2014!” Doc cried, eyes bulging out of their sockets, “I saw him key it in. I tried to stop him, Marty. I tried to warn him of the dangers – the consequences of altering the past and the future but he didn’t listen. He was talking about finding his “fortune” and “getting Lorraine”. Marty, let me see that photo,” Doc gasped, snatching it from Marty and observing the worst. Marty and his siblings were fading once again from the photo.

*****

2014

 

The year 2014 wasn’t as futuristic as Biff had expected it might be – where were the flying cars? But that didn’t really concern him. Parking the DeLorean in an old junkyard, Biff exited the car feeling very chuffed as he strolled into the city, thinking about the fame and fortune he could gather for himself. The junkyard was abandoned and it seemed a perfect place to keep the car. Nobody would find it. Biff would find something from this time in the future and bring it back to the year 1955, pawning it off as his own – and then he’d buy mansions and hire slaves to work all day long for him. Maybe the best way to get Lorraine was to just go back to the 50s with his newfound riches and woo her, dazzle her with his wealth. What did she want with that scrawny loser anyhow?

Walking through the pedestrian crossing, Biff paused when suddenly a swarm of paparazzi rushed at a young group of boys as they darted inside a large building covered in turquoise tiles that reflected the skies. Intrigued as to what this circus was about and taking note of a gaggle of girls screaming after the boys, Biff followed them into the building.

“Can I help you, sir?” a stern voice at the reception desk asked him. Biff looked about his surroundings. The group of boys had disappeared into an elevator.

“I’m here for a job interview,” Biff quickly made up, plastering his best suave expression on.

“Oh are you the ten o’clock slot? Jeremy Phillips? Of course, we’re expecting you. If you go over there to the waiting room, Simon’s assistant will be with you soon,” the woman smiled, keying something into a computer and gesturing to the waiting area. Biff smiled back, taking note of the large sign above her head on the wall that read ‘Modest!’.

*****

1991

 

After listening to the entire album, the boys discussed some of their own projects with Michael who showed the upmost interest in their work.

“Could you sing something? It’s okay if you don’t want to… I’m shy too, but I’d love to hear you acapella,” Michael requested, shooting them his bright smile that was so endearing it made everyone smile back at him and really, who could refuse Michael Jackson?

“Of course, we…we’d be happy to…” Harry said, trying to keep his deep tone casual and as relaxed as his voice sounded, it was his eyes that betrayed him, the glimmering twinkle reminiscent to anime eyes in cartoons, shining with delight. Harry looked at Zayn and they shared a meaningful look. Michael was an inspiration to all the boys, they’d discussed the amount of influence MJ had on music and on them individually but Harry and Zayn couldn’t pretend that they weren’t two of the most ultimate MJ fan boys.

“What will it be, boys?” Niall questioned, leaning back in his chair.

“Something from the new album,” came Liam’s voice.

“Half a Heart?” Zayn suggested, raising his eyebrows, “I’m actually guttered that didn’t make it to the playlist for the shows…”

“Yeah, okay, so. Um,” Harry said, coughing back the lump in his throat as the boys gathered together. He wasn’t going to lie. Singing in front of the King of Pop himself was just a little intimidating.

Soon they were harmonizing together and Liam was singing while Zayn hummed and echoed Liam’s words under his breath.

“ _So your friend’s been telling me / You’ve been sleeping with my sweater / And you can’t stop missing me […]”_

_“And being here without you is like I’m waking up to… only half a blue sky / Kinda there but not quite / I’m walking around with just one shoe / I’m half a heart without you / I’m half a man at best / With half an arrow in my chest / I miss everything we do / I’m half a heart without you…”_

Harry met Louis’ eyes as his solo began and he felt his heart clench behind his ribcage. Louis quickly looked away from Harry, closing his eyes as he sang, a slight frown crinkling the skin between his eyebrows.

_“Forget all we said that night / No, it doesn’t even matter / ‘Cause we both got split in two…”_

Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the butterflies his stomach as Zayn’s solo faded away and he found himself chiming in.

“ _And being here without you is like I’m waking up to only half a blue sky / Kinda there but not quite / I’m walking around with just one shoe / I’m half a heart without you / I’m half a man at best / With half an arrow in my chest / ‘Cause I miss everything we do / I’m half a heart without you…”_

When Harry dared to open his eyes and stare ahead he found himself looking into Michael’s eyes that were so very dark, endlessly dark and deep and sparkling with a kind of wonder that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. After they were done, Michael clapped and gave a little tilt of his head, stray curls falling out of his ponytail.

“Boys, that was beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me. I liked how sometimes you can hear your English accents creeping through,” he said with a giggle.

“Thanks,” Harry answered with a bashful smile.

“Tell me a little more about your band. I’m intrigued,” Michael beamed, tilting his head to the side as he observed them.

“Uh, well…” Zayn began, “we went to a televised audition, and we came third place, actually. We lost. But we were signed anyway and we kinda took off in… in England and Ireland, that is.”

“Televised audition? Is it quite big? I wonder why I haven’t heard of it before. What’s the show called?”

“X Factor,” Zayn answered.

“Hmm, no, it doesn’t ring a bell but I feel like this is something I should know about. I’m always looking out for new talent and I’m always willing to help rising musicians and collaborate. What is the label that you’re with?”

“Modest,” Louis answered sourly and Michael didn’t miss a beat, turning his attention to Louis with curiosity dwelling within his dark eyes.

“I understand,” he began softly, wandering over to the ornate windows and staring out at the many poppies in the distance, their ruby blossom petals fluttering in a gentle breeze, “My brothers and I were treated kind of harshly by our label when we were in a band. And, boy, we started out young, so I can perhaps help you. I know what it’s like. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are, signed to a big label and you just feel so blessed to be signed and to be recording music that you let them take advantage of you. But they restrict your creative freedom, this is what you have to know. They tell you what kind of songs to sing and they don’t let you write any songs yourself. They tell you who to be, how to act, how to talk in interviews… they create an image that’s totally false.”

Harry and Louis shared a meaningful look and all the boys exchanged knowing glances. They were all feeling imprisoned by the label of late, wanting to break free from the many restrictions and be the kind of band they wanted to be. How it would be nice, Harry always lamented, to have total creative freedom and independence to express themselves without management imposing rules and regulations.

“We kind of broke away from it a bit with our recent album, like… we were allowed to write on some songs but we’re not really free to be ourselves, not really,” Harry shared.

“They turn you into their product, their money making machine,” Michael said, nodding in memory, “and it’s hard. It’s real hard. You have management who demand you act a certain way, then you have fans who desire you to be a certain way. Sometime it’s hard to just feel…you know, accepted and loved for being the ordinary person you actually are away from all the hype and hoopla.”

“They…um… they also make us ‘date’ certain people, certain… like…” Harry began, wanting to get this off his chest.

“Oh yeah, that will never stop, unfortunately,” Michael frowned. “They said I had proposed to Elizabeth Taylor – who I adore, but we’re best friends, that’s all. Then they said I’d proposed to Brooke Shields, another dear friend. But seriously, you can’t have female friends without them saying you’re actually dating all of them,” he said with a sad laugh.

“Ah, that’s what they do to Hazza over here,” Liam said, clapping Harry on the shoulder, “the tabloids make him into some womanizer and act like he’s slept with all of London and L.A and that he has a thing for older women. Honestly, if they only knew…” Liam sniggered.

“I say burn all the tabloids, burn all the magazines. They’re full of vile lies. The bigger the star, the bigger the target. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I’m not trying to be all big headed about this, it’s just reality.”

“Michael,” Harry said, biting his lower lip and running a hand through his wayward curls, “this might be a weird question, I don’t know, but, like, me and Louis are together, right? We’ve been together from the start, since X Factor days, but our label make us hide our relationship. They went as far as giving Louis a ‘beard’ – you know, a pretend girlfriend. I hate it. I hate every minute of it, every second we have to live a lie… and I just wondered, what can I do? What do I do? I want out.”

Michael gathered Harry into his arms without delay and hugged him tightly, and when he let go, he looked Harry directly in the eyes with the face of a wounded doe trapped in some burning forest.

“Love is love, Harry. L.o.v.e. It’s all for love. Love doesn’t discriminate against race or gender, okay? Never feel bad for being who you are and don’t let the label make you feel like you’re somehow unworthy of your fans. Your true fans will love and accept you no matter what. My advice to all of you is to leave the label. If you have support from your fans, you don’t need anything else. They’ll carry you all the way. Leave the label and make the kind of music you wanna make and be yourself, be open to the world about your relationship – no more hiding in the closet. During some of the worst times of my life and some of the worst experiences, it was my fans who got me through it. Their support is unwavering and never fails to humble me,” Michael shared, smiling warmly at all the boys who seemed to bathe in his encompassing aura of light. Frankly, it was amazing to be in his presence. Harry was beginning to feel dizzy and dazed.

“Hey, where did Nialler go?” Louis asked. Harry stared – indeed, they were one short.

“I guarantee you he’s found the food,” Zayn smirked.

“C’mon then, guys. Let’s eat,” Michael said, leading the way out of the studio, past the foyer and into the dining room where Niall was indeed already sat and eating a lobster that Leo was serving him.

“Thanks mate, yer a legend.”

 


End file.
